


Pool Hall Junkies

by tigerdust



Series: Corner Pockets [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerdust/pseuds/tigerdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to be helpful, Greg has to learn to shoot pool to catch a criminal.  Nick is the best teacher the lab has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Why are you so tense?"

"Because you're watching me." 

Greg turned his head from the pool table and sharpened his eyes, glaring them at Nick. The shorter man's body was stretched halfway across the table. The stick slid through Greg's hand as he let it go, ultimately more frustrated than anything. They were losing too much time trying to get him into this tournament. 

Nick bat his eyes at Greg with a bemused twinkle. "Do you think they're going to ask all those men and women to politely turn around while you shoot at the tournament?" Greg found his face filling with a bit of heat and was definitely sure that a blush was forming. Nick put his glass down with a sharp clink on the side table under the sticks hanging on the wall. "You asked for my help. Now do you want it or not?"

Greg sighed. He was so incredibly stupid for agreeing to this. "There isn't much choice. If we had more time I could get better..." 

"You know, I'm surprised at you. For someone who can pull off a Follies Bergere headpiece in the middle of a mob murder case, you're going to let a little game of pool get under your skin?"

Greg turned to face Nick, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest, eyes defiant with a hint of anger. "There's a lot more at stake than a tournament prize." 

"There's always more at stake. Would you at least consider having a drink first to calm your nerves?"

Greg shook his head. "Not before a tournament."

"How did you cope in college?"

"I was a lab rat. Not a frat boy." Greg winced as his gaze moved toward the picture of Nick and five other men with very little neck whooping it up next to a keg. "Sorry."

"That's still no excuse not to know how to play this game. Pick up the stick. We'll try this again."

"You won't watch, will you?" Greg's unease seeped through the room, along with the lopsided grimace against his face. Nick crossed his arms in response. "Okay, I just had to ask." Greg sighed and turned back towards the table.

Nick narrowed his gaze as he thought. What is making Greg so nervous? Maybe I should have let Warrick run this lesson. Or even Grissom. They always seemed to relate well to each other. Nick watching Greg wiggle his ass about trying to get his shot together like a kitten stalking his prey. Wait a second, Nick thought fleetingly, why am I concentrating on his ass? Although it is rather perky. 

Greg bit his lip and sighed again, for maybe the umpteenth time, trying to not let his thoughts boil over in his brain. Damn it. He's still watching. I need to cool down. I can do this. Okay, Greg. Just think of it as numbers or an equation. Think of it as solving a case involving a mysterious source of blood. Let's say the database is that diamond up and to the left. Didn't you watch Donald in Math magic Land? Of course you did. God, I'm babbling to myself. This is hopeless. How do I get myself talked into these things?

Nick interrupted Greg's train of thought. "I think I see your problem."

Greg heaved a final sigh and bit into some sarcasm. "Besides my inability to shoot the ball?"

"No. You're nervous." He said it so matter of factly. Like he was fixing the engine on a tractor. Greg took just a second more to glare back at Nick, who had transferred himself onto a stool for optimum comfort.

The room itself seemed built for a guy's comfort. It was a red recreation room. Not obnoxious blood red or feminine pink red. But a guy red that offset the green in the table nicely and matched the rust on Nick's faded jeans. The mahogany ceiling fan gave just enough light from the energy-saving bulbs to not blind anyone. The sound of Greg's heart pounding away in his chest also seemed to overload the old stereo playing Johnny Cash softly in the corner. That was strike one on the "trying to calm Greg down so he could be taught a decent game of pool to help bust open a case" list.

Greg had felt like a failure ever since blowing his chances in the field. He had slunk back to his little cave in the lab. Sure he might belong there. He might be the one meant to do the most optimal job and that was the way they all liked it, but didn't that just make his happiness all that more relative? Or even the rest of the team really caring about his failure? Being here at this moment, with Nick, made it worse somehow, more embarrassing.

Five unrelated deaths across the country. Two out of state forensic units had come asking Grissom's help because all the information seemed to center on three Las Vegas addresses belonging to the same person, who had failed to cover all of his tracks. And this person hadn't been stupid really. Setting up muggings after a person wins a pool tournament? 

Just enough cash to make a little money, not enough to rile the police. Unless you have to kill the person to get them to stop screaming for help or bashing your head in. That was by evidence of half a footprint at one crime scene and two hairs found on a ladder in the fire escape of an alley on the other. Separately, they meant nothing. But together, they led to Greg trying desperately to cling to the last vestiges of his pride learning pool and helping to bust the case open.

"What made me think I could do this?" 

Nick was up in a flash at Greg‘s side. He leaned down and nudged Greg‘s elbow a little. "Hey. Don't do that to yourself. Beating yourself up never got a case solved, did it?"

Greg spoke low, looking down at the table. "I was just saying I shouldn't have volunteered. Now Grissom expects..."

"Forget Grissom." Nick's voice was calming as he slipped a hand into his back pocket, grabbing his cell phone. He flipped it open to the contacts. "Here, you know what? I'll call Warrick. Maybe he'll have some tips."

"No!" Greg was surprised by the strength in his own voice and Nick looked at him a little taken aback. "No. I just...maybe I will have that drink."

Nick dismissed the outburst. "Good. Recognize your limits. That's the first step to solving your problem. Now to the other."

Greg rounded the corner of the rec room on Nick's heels, following him to where the alcohol was kept near the kitchen. His three room ranch was decorated carefully, but not so much that you noticed it. The casual soft blanket thrown across the comfy recliner. The crackled rooster clock over the fridge, a present from his sister. And a bottle of Southern Comfort kept near the shot glasses. He smiled at Greg as he poured, hands brushing as Greg took the glass. In a second, the glass and whiskey are both down.

"Woah there. You've done this before." 

Greg flushed again as his hand lingered on the glass. "I think one might be enough. Say, this game’s not all luck is it? There is art in this game, right?"

"Of course. It's all one big equation. I learned it from Donald Duck in Math magic Land, man." Nick grinned wide at the joke.

Greg stopped at the threshold into the rec room. The smart Texas seemed so natural here, king of his own domain. God, his muscles were so there and his eyes were so twinkled. His entire body coursed with grace. Greg reminded himself to swallow and breathe before he did or said anything regretful.

Nick stretched his arms out. "Are you coming in or what?"

"Yep, I'm coming all right." Greg shook his head in affirmation and then went over to the table. Gripping his stick like a life preserver in a pool, he assumed the position. Nick's hands moved over his in correction. Greg tried to concentrate and tried not to melt. Tried very, very hard not to melt and to listen at the same time.

"And your stance is, man, you've gotta loosen up. You're really...tense." Cue bad porn music. What the hell am I saying, Nick cursed himself for giving away the hand like that. He had no intention of letting his dick muscle in on another good friendship. At first, it had been an innocent move of his foot to try and loosen up Greg past the knee. His hand had lingered over his knee, which had been too close to Greg's very petite and young backside. So not the cool pool mentor thing to do. Paul Newman would have my head on a platter, Nick thought. He moved his hand as though it were burnt by fire.

"What's going on back there?" Greg's head swiveled in the general direction.

"Just some adjustment. Do you feel less tense?" Nick failed to hide the nervous energy in his voice.

"Sure. We'll go with that. Maybe we should call it a night. Stance is good to know. Back on for tomorrow after my shift?"

"Your call. But we've only got until Saturday, so remember that."

"I know." Greg hurried toward the door and turned to see Nick standing, looking just as nervous with his arms folded as Greg was sure he felt on the inside. Was his heart still inside his body? What had happened back there? He managed a wave and a cool goodbye before he nearly tripped over himself leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

There are four distinct scents in a bar during a pool tournament. The first one that you notice is the scent of the dry erase marker. It's that churning mixture of school days and something vaguely intangible. Then you might notice the scent of brews from the tap. Follow that with cheap cologne and blend in the smell of stale tobacco leaves from the cigarette the spouse stole while their significant other was sleeping.

Take all this in. This will be your domain, Greg thought to himself, trying to psyche out the nervousness and flood confidence in the place of his weariness. Nick had been non-committal about cheering him on. Grissom had been busy. And, who was he kidding, he wasn't that close to many others in the lab. He was a Rocky without an Adrien.

Greg heard the sound of his name over the squawking intercom. Everything was straight-forward and set with competition rules. Too bad Greg's opponent looked like a Patrick Swayze reject from Roadhouse. A gleam of triumph and confidence that Greg didn't quite have the knack for. But, as his college girlfriend had done once or twice when he had been too busy studying, he faked a glare and a passing interest in the man's face. Boo-rah. 

Let the games begin.

Greg’s hand slipped on his first turn, cursing to himself for the missed chance. The man had set him up for success. Not a single ball in after breaking the set. And Greg had missed. He couldn't lose control like this. Greg bit his lip with anger, frustration, embarrassment. What is this disease that causes me to choke so often?

There was a new scent that entered, close by. Somewhere far away, someone emitted leather oil mixed with Old Spice. It was a familiar scent. Nick only wore it in the off hours. The young man turned his head towards the scent as Patrick Swayze sunk his third ball. Nick nodded and that was all it took for Greg to lose all his heebie-jeebies. And Patrick missed his ball by that little fraction that can kill you in pool.

Greg forced himself to not hold onto the stick. He had faith in his knees to do their job. Greg aligned himself to take his shot and then remembered the feeling of Nick right there. He remembered the elbow and the rec room. He closed his eyes and in the midst of a breath, Greg pulled the trigger. A striped ball plunked its way into a pocket. He felt as though he might get up on the table and do a little victory dance, arms raised above his head. The best he could do was nod back at Nick.

Four more balls sunk into respective pockets and the place wasn't breathing. Patrick Swayze, who's real name was Terrence, had one ball left and so did Greg. The cue ball and the eight ball mocked them both, playing a dangerous tango. One false move and that was it. The game was over and the jig was up. Greg couldn't leave it all on Nick's shoulders.

Terrence set the shot up for him. Greg took one last breath and his mind lost focus as someone entered the bar. He hit the cue ball a little right of center and the eight ball wobbled. He watched, gasping like a goldfish centimeters from the toilet bowl. Greg's eyes cursed his hands and the rest of his body. The unfeeling ball plopped unceremoniously into the pocket and Terrence cheered.

Greg took his beating like a man and reached for the hand of his better. Watching from the corner of his eye, assuming his name was being scratched over in black sharpie with a harsh line. All Nick could offer was a shrug. Suddenly the bar was very stuffy and Greg felt his legs lifting the rest of him away at a fast pace.

Time was a blur for Greg as he got back to his apartment. Various projects intermingled about his exceedingly low coffee table, around his espresso machine, and throughout a couple of book shelves that had rarely housed books. The blinking light of his screen saver and the mewing of the neighbor's cat greeted him through his thin wall, darkness permeating the small space. He sighed as he sunk into his comfy black rolling executive chair and hunched inward. Tears wouldn't come. Even in his own home, he was just too embarrassed too cry.

Half an hour later, Greg stood in his kitchen. Overhead fluorescent lights illuminated everything in its ugly artificial way. His kettle was near boiling and Greg let his mind wander while he waited for water to submerge his noodles. It was one of his habits to make a big bowl of ramen when he got depressed. Ever since failing his first midterm in college, the only time, Greg had relied on the salty and semi-chicken taste of the noodles to pull him through and often he did. The steam was an agent of change, a reaction. He thought of his great Aunt Bubbi and her Hungarian chicken noodle soup during Thanksgiving weekend. A smiled cracked through his pain.

Greg heard his phone ring and he stared at the caller id while noodles dripped down his fork. It was something he refused to comprehend. He almost wished the number had been work. But somehow the "Pinball Wizard" ring tone just wouldn't play.

"Sorry it took me so long to get here." Greg hadn't uttered a word since hanging up the phone and driving over to Nick‘s place. His throat felt rusty somehow and the words fumbled awkwardly.

"I just tried calling you again. Mind telling me why your ring tone for me is that song?" Nick raised his eyebrow, slightly perplexed.

Greg blurted out a half-formed thought. "I thought it …. suited you." 

"I suppose there are less flattering ringtones." Nick wasn't sure whether or not to take the Eagles as a compliment. He supposed it was better than Abba or the theme to Magnum, PI, which had been Warrick's ring tone for Nick ever since the ‘stache. Which he believed added to his character.

"So what was the big emergency?"

Nick stepped back so Greg could make himself more at home. "You were. You left your table road runner style man. It kinda bugged me." 

"That I can run that fast?" It was Greg's turn to be perplexed, fumbling a moment with his shoes as he left them by the entrance.

Nick shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"It's stupid, I know." Greg removed his light jacket, hanging it on a nearby hook, and looked down at his socks. "But I felt... wounded losing that game."

"Grissom'll understand. You did really great out there today. I was impressed." Nick nodded, adding emphasis to the word impressed.

Greg‘s head tilted upwards. "It was all thanks to you." 

"Don't just stand there in the entry way with your shoes off. Come on in. I'll be in the rec room if you need to fix yourself a shot first."

"Why the rec room?" Greg asked as Nick walked around the corner.

"I moved the leather lazy boy in here." Nick called back with a half shout.

Greg followed, a drink absent from his hand. "Why'd you do that?"

"More comfy. Helps me figure out a way to help you."

Greg crooked his eyebrow, trying to think of a less lame response. His brain failed. "But I didn't win."

"Your point?" Nick was so sure of himself.

"But I didn't win." Greg seemed rather adamant about that point, leaning into the last word to add emphasis. Nick rose from his chair as Greg shoved his hands into his pocket.

"That doesn't matter,” he continued with arms folded. “We had a deal. As long as there's a tournament then you're gonna learn. And hey, we've still got me. And I do need the practice." 

"You're into wasting your free time?" 

Nick was stung by the bite in Greg‘s words. "It's not a waste. Give yourself a chance. You're good, inspiring, when you want to be."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you didn't think..." 

"That you were depressed?" Greg merely nodded, having a hard time looking Nick in the eye. Nick continued to speak without hesitation. "Look, man, I know depression. If you were really that depressed about it then I'd have to had come over and drag you back here with a lasso. And neither of us wants to explain rope burns to Catherine. Or do you?" Nick arched his eyebrow playfully.

Greg chose a wiser response than the one running round his mind. “I think I’ll pass.”

"Exactly. Now how about a game?" Nick moved, his arms pointing toward the table in the center of the room.

"Why not a movie instead?"

"You have to face it sooner or later."

"Says you."

"Get over here." Nick's voice was flat and Greg couldn't really find a reason to say no. He hesitated before making his way toward the table. Nick met him and leaned down on his elbows, nearly in the same place they'd been in only a day or two before. 

Nick continued his advisement. "Now, I did notice a couple of things we could work on. For instance, setting up is good but follow-through needs a bit of work. And you're taking way too long to shoot. We're gonna get you shooting from instinct. But, you've got the basic concept and we can build from anything basic."

"Should I grab a stick?"

"That's the general idea."

"You going to relax me again?"

"Don't need to. You found yourself after your jitters went away."

"There are reasons for that." Greg muttered as he faced away from Nick, pretending to choose the right stick.

"Second from the left. And mumble a little louder next time."

"I said that there's good reason to not be nervous. I was playing pool against a Patrick Swayze lookalike."

"Hey, that Roadhouse look is very classic."

"Are you defending him?"

“Didn't say that. Now quit stalling." 

Greg found himself leaning close to the table, Nick's voice pressed hot against his ear. Was this life being fair or exceedingly cruel? Grissom would have a quote for that, although right now Greg wasn't sure thinking of Grissom was too appropriate.

"Just a little looser on the hand." 

Fingers touched and there was a surprising spark of static between the two. Nick jumped back slightly and smiled, his finger moving across his lips as though he had been spooked. Greg continued moving his pool stick, not really paying attention to anything but Nick's lips.

"Earth to Greggo. Shooting pool?"

"Sorry, caught up in a memory. Static shock. Reminded me of a funny story.”

"And what is so funny about static shock?"

"The name of a cover band I knew. My roommate played drums."


	3. Chapter 3

"And what about you?" Nick stated blankly.

"What about me what?" Greg returned the question with a shrug.

"You didn't want to be in the band?" Nick had trouble imagining Greg turning down a gig like that.

"Nah. Too busy getting my degree so I could be stuck in a lab all day." Greg turned his lips into a half-hearted smile.

Nick snorted a laugh through his nose. "Man, I'm glad I had fun in college."

"Seems like you did." Greg looked toward the picture on the wall momentarily and paused in thought. "Maybe I was just too busy. Probably why I don't get out much now."

"Might be. Bet you found a girlfriend though."

"Yeah, well, kind of. She was a pre-dent major and I was in two of her bio science classes. We didn't date out of lust as much as out of convenience." Greg stated the facts tersely, not sounding very concerned with his former girlfriend.

"Out of lust?" 

"Love! Love...I meant love."

Nick rested his hand on his hip. "You mean you've never been in love?"

"I don't do love, Nicky." Greg stated the fact bluntly, doing his best to put no force behind it. As far as he knew, it was true. He couldn't remember being in love. Well, except in his Nick-based fantasies, but they so weren't going there.

"That can't be true. Nice guy like you with a good head on his shoulders. Any girl would be lucky to get..." 

Greg pressed the issue, as though he weren‘t preaching to a choir. "Someone who can't spend more than five hours with them at a time because of an all-consuming job? No thanks. I sure wouldn't want to put anyone through that. But what about you? I'm sure women just banged at your frat room door." 

During the little speech, Nick shifted his wait uncomfortably. Then it was his turn to shrug. "I had a policy against dating the sisters. Ring catchers was the term we used."

"We?" Greg perked up, interested to know about this other person.

"My roommate sophomore year. Both moved into the frat house around the same time and struck up a nice little friendship." 

Nick did fail to mention, however, the random moments of anxiety they relieved each other from. And that feeling in the pit of his stomach when Jake had been evicted when he was stupidly caught with...well, Nick didn't much care to think about it.

"Bros before hos?"

"Something like that."

"That's a good way to live." Greg flattened himself down to the level of the table and squinted at the balls as though he were going to shoot soon. "So what would be the best way to attack this triangle? There's gotta be something better than just aiming for the center?"

Greg caught Nick's eyes looking down at him, something dark swirling behind for just a moment before Nick caught himself. "Yeah. It's good that you're catching onto that. Actually," and Nick made a couple of hand motions to get his point across, "what you want to do is a lot like bowling. Hit a little right of center. Or left if you're wrong-handed."

"Ah! Bowling. I can relate to bowling. I can cosmic boogie with the best of them." Greg did a little wiggle just to prove his point.

Nick chuckled, breaking the tension he felt wearing down on him just a bit. "Can't say I ever did the cosmic bowling. Sara was never big into stuff like that."

"You and Sara went bowling?"

"We tried." Nick's face fell a bit and he looked back at the rack momentarily, trying to concentrate on his stick collection. He moved quickly and plucked one from the rack. "Let me show you what I mean."

Greg thought he mumbled softly. "She must have been some sort of fool."

Nick set up his shot and commented with a warning tone to his voice. "Don't talk about Sara like that."

"Sorry." Greg looked down, ashamed, and let his head rise just as the cue ball hit the triangle. Colors scattered across the table. "She and you must have..."

"It was what it was." Nick's eyes watched two solid balls plunk into the pockets without commitment to his voice, turning his attention away from Greg. Nick tried to fool himself with the thought about the mathematics of the game. But he was only fooling himself. "So, I guess before we move on to after the set-up shot, we should try the set-up shot again. Rack 'em up, Greggo."

Greg moved around the table and centered the balls, plucking the couple out that had found their way to various pockets. He was startled by the man he saw across the table. He seemed older and sadder somehow, like experience had stripped away the zest and cavalier cowboy Greg had come to know and, well, love. Okay, not love. Maybe not love? Greg wasn't sure how he felt. But his heart hurt seeing Nick like this. What other explanation was there?

Nick turned away under the guise of reaching for his drink, uncomfortable by everything Greg was seeing within him. Too deep, too far, too fast. He wouldn't do something like that again. A part of him ached to talk about what had happened. To make sense of any of it. To alleviate some sort of guilt. To give him the ability to wake up again with someone warm on the other side of the pillow. He missed that more than anything. Maybe the Eagles ring tone was more astute than Greg gave it credit for. Nick pounded back the last portion of his drink and turned back toward the table.

Greg was already lying low, trying to set up his shot. Nick was going with his head this time and totally avoided the view of Greg's wiggling ass. Nick moved alongside, cold and detached, watching the proceedings with seasoned eyes. "You're nervous again."

"I am not." Greg tried to put a defiant tone into the words, but verged on sounding whiny instead.

"You‘re lying."

Greg turned his head away, trying to fake determination. "Maybe you should try and fix it." 

Nick backed away a step. "That's not funny."

"Wasn't meant to be."

Nick shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Of course I do. Nick..." Greg looked back and bit his lower lip before bracing himself to continue onward. "The only reason I even got as far as I did against Terrance was because of you."

"Greggo, I had nothing to do with it. I didn't even know if I'd be showing up."

"But it's what you taught me that counted."

Nick shook his head again, tearing his gaze from Greg and focusing on the halogen bulb above the table.. "I'm just giving you the tools. You're the one utilizing them."

Greg's voice cracked a bit. "Why can't you look at me right now?"

Nick felt an adamant voice move from the pit of his stomach. "Just shoot the ball."

"Help me aim first."

Nick's voice surged with impatience, anger, frustration and hints of anxiety. "You know you can damn well aim!"

Greg tried to connect with his eyes. "Why are you getting so angry?"

"I'm..." Nick grabbed Greg‘s shoulders, scooping him away from the table, taking a breath before leaning Greg back against the pool table. Greg's stick still stood between them, but it promptly fell against Nick’s body when he felt Nick's lips press against his.

It was almost rough and biting, but it was just forceful enough. Greg felt his hand crawling its way behind Nick so that his chest could press against the Texan. It was the heat of Nick's cinnamon gum and the fragrant taste of the brandy he'd been drinking. It was the way his tongue seemed to melt away until just the right moment. It was Greg's throat going dry and the feeling of his heart beat somewhere inside.

Nick pushed away from Greg a moment too late to stop himself. He walked over to the picture of his frat brothers and crossed his arms, furious with himself. His head hung tensely. He expected Greg to leave, to call Grissom, to humiliate him. After all, Nick should never have...but Greg was still there.

Nick turned and looked at Greg, who was trembling without appropriate word. His eyes were just slightly wider than the last time Nick had looked at him. Neither man could think and yet so much passed between them.

"I..."

"Shut up Nick."

"You're free to go. There's not much else I can teach you, just practice some more. You don't have to come back."

"Show me how to play." Greg was adamant, a bit of bravery brewing underneath the quiver of his belly.

Nick shook his head with disbelief, his muscles stressed from the tension. "Don't tease me like that."

"I'm not. You got me to where I am. Show me how to play." 

"What you're asking..."

"Isn't forever. Hell, it doesn't even have to be tonight. But we had a deal. I don't welsh on them and neither do you. So get back over here." Greg's defiant, bull-headed stare made Nick feel...something.

Nick crossed the room hesitantly as Greg set up his shot. Nick's veins were pulsing with emotion as his hands clenched the table, wanting more. The Texan could barely see the balls as they clacked all around the green table. Then he felt the warmth of Greg's hand against his.

"You can't even see them can you?" Greg's voice was hesitant, barely above a whisper and wavering with his lack of confidence.

"No." Nick's answer lacked his usual charm.

"Then let's fix it. Can't have you being too distracted to teach me." Greg's hand slid around the cowboy's neck. The hairs on the back of Nick's neck stood. Greg returned the kiss he'd been given earlier. It wasn't as rough, it could never have been. But it was warm and it enveloped Nick. He leaned in closer and Greg was right there where he had been, where both had begun to want to be.

Greg removed his hands so there would be more leverage as he leaned against the railing of the table. He imagined them falling against the floor and their legs intertwining. In reality, Nick's hands moved to make up the difference for Greg leaning. Nick's body was gradually falling forward. Greg could feel the pulsing movement of something marvelous beneath Nick's jeans. Then Nick's tongue entered Greg's mouth and Greg forgot everything around him. There was a spark somewhere that lit inside Greg, a sort of hunger fueled by the taste of cinnamon and brandy.

They let go at the same instant to try and catch some form of breath, but they were both too far gone to really care. Greg grabbed the collar of Nick's white button-down shirt and half pulled Nick towards his recliner. Nick found himself deep in the middle of enjoying the kiss while Greg towered over him. Nick broke away for an instant.

"Ever done this before?"

Greg's pupils were slightly dilated with lust. "Nope."

A hint of impressed bemusement hit Nick's throat. "Damn."

"Yep." Greg's fingers fumbled with impatience at Nick's buttons.

Nick glanced from the recliner. "You nervous?"

Greg took a second, stunned by the question. But then he brought his mouth closer to Nick's, hovering against the stubble and whispering into his ear. "Yeah. But I'm a quick study."

"I want you."

"Good to know. Otherwise I'd have some questions about that kiss earlier." 

Greg smiled and Nick returned it. They kissed for a third time, without hesitancy. Greg felt the same spark as Nick's tongue slid into his mouth. Greg's hands found their way to the buttons and the slight pop of each releasing the heaving chest of the Texan made him giddy. They were both smiling widely now. Nick's eyes showed the little crinkle in the corner that exasperated Greg in a good way and Nick's hand felt its way to the small of Greg's familiar back. Nick pulled him down close and his free hand pulled the last remnants of the tucked-in shirt away from his body. It was flung behind the recliner.

Greg took a second to examine Nick's physique. It was taut and perfect, not a wasted vein or muscle. A bare hint of masculine hair, a perfect place for a renegade tattoo, hints of a rope burn and marks from a shovel bruise. His fingers caressed Nick's arm. In response, Nick quirked his head and watched Greg try to collect himself.

"Need help?"

Greg felt a bit overwhelmed "Don't know where to begin."

"How about with your shirt, Greggo?"

Greg's mind stuck for just a second. How many times had he run that phrase, that very scenario into every side-long glance or wise crack comment. Greg's shirt suddenly felt very heavy against his skin. They both seemed glad to be rid of it as it cascaded past the belt line and onto the floor. Greg gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Nick's hand grabbing Greg's arm and pulling him closer made it harder for Greg to concentrate.

"Not quite as pleasant as yours."

"That's where you're wrong. Compact muscles, little bit of tan, nothing to be ashamed of. And a blush that's very cute." Nick's smile widened and Greg realized that not only was he blushing, but that the blush was traveling from somewhere near his stomach. Nick wouldn't let him cast his eyes down either. Nick's hand met Greg's chin as the Texan leaned forward in his dark leather recliner. Eyes met, confident and embarrassed glances intertwining. "Hey. Don't down on yourself like that. If you don't want to..."

"Oh no. There's lots of want to. There's so much want to that I..."

"If your kissing is any indication then we're both in for a good night."

Greg tried to not let his jaw drop to the floor as Nick began rubbing his hands across Greg's midsection. Each rib thrust itself out happily to meet Nick's thumb and wandering fingers. Greg licked his lips a second before he brought himself back into Nick's chest. The scent of Old Spice met his nostrils and a faint hint of something hit his tongue as he brought his mouth towards Nick's dark nipples.

A burst of noise escaped Nick's lips that sounded like a moan mixed with a tempered hiss. Greg could feel hands running over his ribs and his back. He felt Nick's fingers wander close to the belt line and pull back at just the last second. Greg felt Nick's shoulder lean in just a bit more. Greg had never been with a man, but there was something vaguely more forceful about it. There was no doubt that a woman was beautiful, but a man knew what he wanted. This man specifically.

Greg couldn't wait anymore. He wanted to taste every inch of Nick, to feel sweat drops build between the two. Greg moved away slightly and Nick's eyebrow cocked itself. "You sure?"

"I don't have much expertise in the area."

"You'd be surprised what can be accomplished naturally." Greg felt his hands move towards Nick's belt. For a moment, Greg's hands buried themselves in the cowboy's prolific bulge, creating another groan of pleasure and another smile that just might have made Nick's head separate from the rest of his body.

Nick knew that he was getting hard and a little slick. If Greg wanted to be ridden, he'd do it gladly. Nick also knew himself enough to know that he wasn't going to be patient much longer either. There was something to be said for giving yourself over to a couple moments of ecstasy and all this bullshit about gender couldn't hide the fact that sometimes men just knew it better. Hell, at least they were honest about when they got off.

Greg bit his lip at the "feed the beast" comment running around inside his head. The reality of what he was about to do hit home as Nick's fingers moved from the clasp of his belt towards his zipper, moving almost in slow motion. Time seemed to slow further as Nick revealed white boxers and a bit of pre-cum illuminating the cock therein, escaping just slightly from the waistband. It wasn't overwhelmingly large, but it was thick and definitely good sized. The bulls on that ranch he had come from must have been jealous.  
Nick leaned back in the recliner. His cock hit against Greg's cheek and a sigh escaped his lips. There was a fire, a hunger to Greg's tongue. Nick's cock was mightily appreciative for it. Ever since Sara, the thing had been shunned. And now, the cute and brainy lab rat that Nick had always envisioned kissing the smart mouth off of was knelt between his thighs, shirtless and hungry.

The heat that emanated from Nick's balls drove Greg forward. He'd never tried to take another man, but damn if Nick wasn't right about instinct taking over. Nick's hand massaged the back of Greg's head as he made some very appreciative noises that were music to Greg's ears. The taste of the pre-cum on the hard cock mixed with the pulsing member was sending Greg into over-drive. He wanted everything, wanted to taste everything in this new world. Nick's endorphins were going into overdrive and he was coming close to giving out right in Greg's mouth.

But that wouldn't have been fair. "Gotta stop for a minute, man." Nick breathed out the words and Greg obeyed. "Don't want to finish just yet. Need to be in you, need to feel you."

"Don't think we should do that in here."

"Bedroom? I've got some stuff. Wouldn't want to hurt ya."

Greg whispered. "I think we're a little beyond that."

The bedroom might only have been across the entrance way, but it was a world away for Greg. He had envisioned this moment so many times in his dim little apartment closer to the Strip. He had literally had to beg himself to forget it, to let it go as a dream. And now Nick was standing there beside him, waiting. Nick who was at little more than half-mast. Nick, who's hand was gracing his waist band and...

Nick who was now removing Greg's pants and tossing them across the floor. Damn. Why did I chose today to wear these boxers? Nick tried to stifle back the snicker as his hands moved to the waistband of Greg's "Sugar Daddy" boxers. Greg couldn't help himself either. He snickered and then followed in a full-fledged laugh after Nick howled out a small laugh of his own.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah." Greg blushed as he moved his hands over Nick's and they slid his boxers away together. Nick's hand felt for Greg's hard cock and stroked it. Greg bit his lip and his nostrils flared, his eyes closing in concert with the pleasure. They stood against the doorway, cocks and hands rubbing against each other. Greg's leg rested against Nick's knee, feeling his pulse. Greg was the first to give out and took something of a running leap at the bed.

Nick shrugged and follow the younger man, who was enveloped in his white 200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. "Nice landing."

"Would be better with you here." Greg smirked and patted the bed.

"I think that could be arranged." Nick looked down at Greg, mustering the words for witty banter between his bouts of hunger.

Greg felt himself shudder as Nick's hands were overtaken by his lips. Nick lay opposite of Greg, his mouth moving downward from the ribs to the bellybutton and then engulfing Greg's cock, which was just slightly smaller than his own.

The taste was delicious, just as provocative as Nick remembered cock being. The way it obeyed the tongue, the way the other man moaned. It sounded and felt so gratifying. The utter intimacy of being with Greg made Nick want more. His mind was leaving, his heart and cock begging him to continue forward with any pleasure he chose.

"Nicky...Nicky...I'm...I'm gonna..."

"Oh no you're not, Greggo. We're gonna make it together." Nick winked and Greg fell back onto his elbow. He watched Nick rise from the bed and grab something from his chest of drawers. "I've got a way to make this easier for you since this is your, umm, first time."

Greg looked up expectantly from the bedside as Nick knelt on the bed, his cock hitting the sheet centimeters from Greg's hand. Greg became putty in Nick's sheets. He was rolled to one side as Nick lay down. Greg felt Nick's bicep move over his chest, arm hair to smooth nipple. Greg felt himself being moved across Nick. His back could feel the Texan's heartbeat and he gulped.

Nick understood. "Don't have to if you don't want to. Either way, we're almost there." It was a rough whisper. Greg controlled himself long enough to give a response.

"Your call."

"You know what I want."

"It would be a shame to go all the way through the maze and not get the prize."

Nick kissed Greg's neck, his teeth grating over the skin. Greg hissed in surprise and lust. He heard the sound of Nick lubing up his hard, veiny cock. It occurred to Greg that this was the point of no return and this was the exact intimate moment he had been romanticizing all this time, since he almost lost Nick to that madman.

Nick knew he wanted to ride Greg. He tried desperately to control himself, tried to move slowly enough for comfort. His cock did a dance with the entrance to Greg's ass, just close enough for Greg to feel and steady himself. There was a brief moment where they were apart and neither could wait. Greg did his best not to scream as he felt the Texan begin to ride him with care and respect, but a ton of horniness.

"You're amazing."

"...cowboy..." Greg couldn't speak, just grunt and move with the tide of Nick rolling in and out of him. To be so close, to want so much. It was too perfect, too much of what he had imagined. His strong hand around the chest. Greg's own cock pointed and almost ready to burst. The feeling of the skin together and the sound of meshing. Nick's voice in his ear. "...almost there..."

"So close. Race you to the finish line?"

Greg didn't respond, his mouth quitting the talk function momentarily. Nick popped away from Greg's ass and found his cock stiff against Greg's cock as Greg lay on top of him. His hand ripped the condom away and began stroking both cocks at the same time. Greg moaned and said something vaguely incoherent.

Nick felt his balls tense up and felt the throbbing in his cock come close to release. They were both there. The Texan and the lab rat, the two loneliest men in the world. A collective shiver ran between the pair and the world stopped the moment they began cumming in tandem. Most of it ended up on Greg's chest when they were done. Nick felt himself bucking upward just a bit and Greg gripped the bed sheet until the spasms subsided.

Greg slipped away from Nick's chest. He tried to exit the bed but found Nick's hand gripping him. "I shouldn't stay."

"Why not?" Greg didn't have a good answer and Nick continued. "I've got towels in the same drawer I got the condom from. I'd like you to stay the night. I mean, if you don't have too early a start."

"No...I just didn't want to intrude."

"We're a little past that Greggo. Come back to bed."

Greg wiped himself off, dropping the towel into a nearby white wicker hamper, and then obliged Nick. He found himself falling asleep to the sound of Nick's heart against his ear and the warm feeling of body against body. Nick's arm grabbed him softly but protectively. Nick fell into him, wishing and praying that it wasn't a dream.

Greg was overtaken with a good night of sleep. He awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating in his pants. Nick was snoring softly and Greg wriggled from the grip easily. He stumbled toward his pants and felt for his phone. Vibrating calls meant an unknown caller. In the dark, he couldn't quite make out the number. Nick's snoring ceased as he answered the phone softly.

Nick didn't catch much of the conversation. The feeling of Greg leaving and the heat he left behind was bittersweet for Nick. But Greg's surprised face turning around to meet his sleepy eyes was worth it.

"Good news?"

"They had a late entrant into the tournament. None of the other losing contestants want back in. I have a second chance."


	4. Chapter 4

Greg was seized by an uncontrollable urge to quit. To just slam down the stick and walk out of the bar. Who would really care? To them it was just a tournament. There were no lives at stake, no feelings in the balance. People, Greg tried to convince himself, he meant people, not feelings.

Sara looked up from her second shot. She was two balls ahead and Greg had managed to keep a silent cool and not engage her in conversation. Sara had let it pass but now was pressing him as to why they weren't talking. After all, it shouldn't ruin anyone's game. 

She was the late entrant and he was the only loser who was trying to re-enter the tournament. Greg managed to pass a few mumbling minutes while watching her shoot. He could dismiss most of her inane chatter while he was shooting. Sara did seem genuinely curious about where he had learned to play though. She claimed the mannerism seemed too different from his own.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Greg turned from a very stressful bank shot and Sara smiled innocently.

"The style is just well, how should I put this? Not quite as masculine as you've been in the past."

"You never thought I was masculine." Greg stated blankly as he moved toward his stool.

"Well, it's not as though you flaunted it. But I was just wondering who you'd let influence your style." Sara bent forward, only seeming to half-concentrate while she shot. Another ball flew into a pocket.

"Hey, it's my business who I take lessons from."

"No need to get defensive, Greg. I was merely stating a fact. There were only a few times I ever saw you chummy with Nick and Warrick. Most times..."

Greg stared her down, boring holes through the back of her head. "Lab work is not feminine."

"Classically it is. Attention to detail, precision, organizational skills, multiple tasks to complete at once. Most of the great forensic labs in the country, minus the autopsy rooms, are driven by women."

"So?" Greg spoke with just enough anger to blow his concentration. What was Sara trying to drive at?

"I was just wondering who taught you to play pool. You don't have to get defensive about it, Greg."

"Someone stepped up to help me." Greg stated without a hint of ferocity in his voice.

The door clanged as it opened, light blinding them both as they looked over. Nick entered the building and surveyed the pool tables over the chaos. Greg silently cursed himself. If there was one time that he did not want Nick here, facing off against Sara was that time. Nick's face flashed with surprise before a poker mask dropped down upon it.

"Sidle." Nick stated the fact without a proper question, just slightly drawing out the name.

"Nick. I take it that you're as surprised to see me as Greg was."

"I'd say so. Mind telling us what you're doing back in Vegas? I mean, I would think Grissom would say something..."

"Grissom doesn't know." Sara was quick to shoot Nick down.

"Why not tell Grissom? Weren't you two..."

"Whatever we were doesn't matter. We can't be that now."

"So why are you back in town, Sara?" Greg mimicked the question she ignored from Nick.

"I'm here on business, convention. Just happened to have some free time and stopped off at an old haunt."

Nick bit his lip for a moment, the taste of Big Red dancing on his tongue. "There's a couple pieces of this puzzle that don't fit."

Greg looked up from his stool. "Just a couple?"

"Well, yeah. First off, a recovering alcoholic shouldn't be going back to a bar she used to haunt. And second..."

"Hey! I beat my addiction. Just like I'm beating Greg." Sara smirked at her remark.

"You're only a ball ahead." Greg used his pool cue to make his point.

"Regardless, it doesn't hold power over me anymore."

"Fine, that's just fine Sara. Congratulations. But my second point... convention? I think you can do better than that." Nick pinched his brow with his forefingers out of exasperation.

"Think so? I don't have to explain myself. I just beat Greg. Sorry Sanders. Looks like you're out."

Greg didn't move for a second or two. Was it possible that Sara knew what was going on and had a plan? She had just wiped him out of his second chance. Greg left the bar not with a defeated attitude, but with far more questions in the foggy part of his brain than answers. Greg spent the next two days going through the motions of work while avoiding Grissom. He didn't want to have to lie and Lord knows Sara would get herself in enough trouble if Gil found out. Greg also forcing Nick to swear he wouldn't tell. That had been a conversation for the record books.

Greg was convinced it was better for everyone involved. Unfortunately, she disappeared and reappeared only at competitions. Sara was good at hiding, a trait she probably perfected while off the wagon, and Greg wasn't as stealthy as he would have liked to have thought. Nick declined his invite to tail Sara all over town. Truth be told, Nick just wanted her gone. Didn't want to think about what seeing her did to him. Not since he and Greg had begun private lessons.

Sara just kept winning, but then again so did Nick. Their brackets opposed and parried each other so often that Greg wouldn't even come to the games anymore. Nick preferred it that way. As stressed as he was about Sara getting in the way or something happening, he couldn't risk Greg getting in the way as well. It was better for all parties involved and for Nick's tension if Greg pretended he was watching television or something, not climbing the walls waiting for his "Desperado" ring tone to sound.

"So...you and Greg? That's surprising." Sara smiled warmly, watching her shot compliment Nick's opening.

"It's really not your business."

"You don't think so?"

"That's correct." Nick sunk a bank shot just to prove his point.

"Funny, doesn't an ex usually have some sort of say, approval or not?"

"And why should I care if you approve? And who said anything was going on between us?"

"I can tell." And Sara shot a purple ball into the same pocket as Nick just to prove her point.

"Doesn't matter what you can tell. Only matters what is."

"You afraid I'm gonna air your dirty laundry?"

Nick slammed the butt of his cue quietly on the ground. "Go back to San Francisco, Sara."

"And what? Miss you getting all defensive and angry? You're still kind of cute when your nostrils flare."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Sara set up her shot. "That's where you're wrong, Nick. And you'd better start paying attention or someone might lose something."

Nick's throat went dry. "You know, don't you?"

"Seems pretty obvious to someone doing any sort of detective work."

Nick spoke low while setting up his shot. "Then you know how dangerous it is."

"We used to put our lives on the line for each other all the time, Nick."

"Unnecessary risk is not part of the job."

"Unnecessary risk is the job, Nick."

"Go back to San Francisco, Sara."

"I can't do that."

"You have to."

"This is the last game of the tournament. You know he'll be here."

"What makes you so sure it's a he?"

Sara shrugged. "Foot patterns, type of attack. Cowardly, less heat of passion. Probably male and most likely Caucasian considering his choice of venue."

"Then you have been listening to scanners. The cops'll save my butt Sara, not yours."

Sara shook her head. "No one will be able to save anyone else. But you, you have more to lose. Let me do this."

"Go home Sara."

"I have to make a call. Need a break? Or how about a tie?" Sara smirked at Nick and he scratched his head and she whispered to a judge. Nick tensed. What was going through this girl's mind?


	5. Chapter 5

Sara smirked when she returned. And it was the kind of smirk that Nick didn't like. It was too confident, cocky, aware of things that were happening. Nick was fully aware that no one who smirked so close to danger knew even an iota of what they'd actually accomplished. He wasn't, couldn't be, indifferent enough to not try and stop her again. It frustrated Nick to know that attempting that would probably come to no avail in any case.

"So, who was the call for?" Nick finished the question and immediately regretted it. Sara blinked as she finished preparing her stick for the end of the battle.

"Interested to know? I'm touched Nick. Now I do believe it's time we finished this game."

"I agree." Nick bared down in his concentration.

A thousand times I've seen you standing  
Gravity like a lunar landing  
Make me want to run til I find you  
Shoot the world away from here  
Drift to you, you're all I hear  
As everything we know fades to black

Across town, Greg was in a near fit, cursing as coffee spilled onto his hand. He had been warming the remnants of the cold stuff from the bottom of the pot that he'd been sipping from all day. Greg continued to ignore the phone, preferring not to be anywhere else. He knew Nick would leave a message and so he searched for a paper towel with which to sop up the brown liquid moving across his plastic counter.

The voice on the other end of the answering machine was feminine, which surprised Greg immensely. He couldn't think of a woman who'd be calling him. Not that it didn't happen; just not very often. Greg lived in the world of the lab and didn't have time to date. That's how he'd justified his mooning over Nick. He could justify a lot of things. Like not being at the final match tonight because the place was crawling with undercovers and Nick was wearing a wire. No sir. Greg didn't need to worry, didn't need to pace. And yet he was.

"Greg," the voice was rather urgent, "look, I know we haven't seen eye to eye on a lot of things. Our friendship was tenuous at best. You had things you did well and I had things I did well. Since we do seem to have one thing in common, you should know how much Nick is putting himself in danger here. We both know that you're sitting at home pacing, waiting, and ignoring your phone."

Sara's voice wasn't accusatory. At the very least it was sympathetic, strained in the same way Grissom's voice had mirrored Greg's feelings that awful time so close to being a memory where Nick had been buried alive. Greg stared momentarily at his thin coat just hanging by the door knob and then at the blinking answering machine. He had a need to go over and punch the stupid coat down to the floor. Against his better judgment, he grabbed the coat and felt his body throwing itself into the night in the direction of his car.

Find a place where we escape  
Take you with me for the space  
The city bus that sounds just like a fridge

"You must be the lucky fella who won the tournament." His voice was gruff, as though he'd inhaled gravel. The man had sandy hair and wore a greasy trenchcoat. The grungy hood motif was completed with a down-trodden moustache that screamed cheesy porn star. His hands weren't shaking and his eyes were steady as they stared Nick down.

"That would be me."

The man smiled at Nick, who was standing in the alley, twisting his immovable lips into an impish grin. "I'm glad to meet someone with such skill."

Nick tried to quell the gulp he felt moving through his throat. He was slightly successful, no matter how dry his throat felt. He took stock around the perimeter of his vision. He had a variety of weapons he could use against the man. But he hoped the cops would be closer to catching him without interference of something that could ruin the trial.

"Wasn't skill, man. Had more to do with luck. Just trying to make an escape home." Nick steadied himself, channeling the calm reasoning he used when he played five card stud.  
The man in the coat shifted his weight. "My name is Harold." 

He extended his hand and Nick refused to budge from the spot. Nick could hear the merriment of the oblivious bar patrons just beyond the wall. A few quick calculations and Nick knew that, in a pinch, it would be both sturdy enough to hold the man and yet thin enough to alert the undercovers inside. "I see you're not interested in being polite tonight."

Nick shrugged, avoiding his usual polite nature. "Sorry. Just want to get home."

"Well, I'm glad to have met you. One thing you should know is that I run a charity organization for the downtrodden and homeless. If you feel like contributing any of your winnings…"

"Sorry. I donate to St. Jude's." Nick tried moving through the alley, but the man cut him off.

"I can't stress how important your donation would be to us." His voice carried a flat menace to it. Nick heard the faint sound of metal brushing against skin. There was an inside pocket in that coat, possibly several.

"I'll think it over. Set something up with the barkeep. He knows me."

"Actually, we're looking for something a little more….discreet…"

"Doesn't sound very trustworthy to me." Nick raised his eyebrow a bit.

"Oh, we always make sure things are running. I do wish you'd reconsider."

Nick smiled grimly. "It's not nice to threaten people, Harold."

The smile in Harold's face went slack. "Who said I was threatening? Threats don't necessarily imply action. You people and that swank world you live in. Just the privilege and decadence makes me ill. And then I have to come and beg. Well, you should know that I'm through begging."

"Be careful, Harold. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble with your employer."

Harold snorted while removing the butcher knife from his pocket. "By the time they find you, Nicholas, it won't matter. I'm my own employer."

Harold lunged, trying to set the stage for a mugging gone wrong. Nick felt his muscles tense and seize as weaponry flew at him. He could hear the sounds of footsteps. If he went missing in the alley for too much longer they would come. He'd just have to bob and weave, like moving against a drunk fraternity brother bent on some misinformed revenge.  
Nick swept around the cold cement like a boxer as Harold continued to stagger forward. 

Nick felt the knife slice away some of his shirt near his right sleeve. Nick slipped, his head moving against the fire escape ladder nearby. The burning buzz behind his ears was accompanied by Harold sending three distinct blows against his face and forehead. Nick grabbed for the nearest object and smashed the old orange rind against the blows. The toxic juice spit into Harold's eye.

Harold, enraged, moved against Nick and began to kick him. "Too bad the cops won't be able to find you until morning. They're following a lead in the other alley. Next time, don't wear a wire."

Light burst through the alley as Nick moved his forearms to defend himself against what he guess was a trash can lid. Harold had lost his knife and was frantically searching to reclaim the evidence. What worried Nick was how much the guy seemed to know about his set-up. That kind of evidence disconcerted the investigator greatly.

Walk the streets through seven bars  
I had to find just where you are  
The faces seem to blur  
They're all the same

"Nick!" Shit, he thought. Greg's voice had a slight shriek as it bellowed down the alley.

Harold turned and grimaced. "Go back inside and call the cops! This man's been mugged!"

Greg was seized with a need to move forward and help until he saw the glint of knife at Nick's feet. Greg thought quickly, "Let's get him back inside then. We can get him cleaned up and under cover."

"Yes. Come over and help me. You'd only need to tap on the door to get let back in."

The door snapped shut just as Greg moved away. The loss of light was enough for Nick to regain his leverage, after blinking, and grab the trash can lid where Harold had dropped it. Greg rushed in and slipped just as he was reaching the ladder. Harold felt the blow of the trash can lid before anything else. And soon enough he lost all consciousness.

The couple of hours he spent getting patched up gave Nick time to reflect. Greg had sat, shivering at what could have been, near the back of the ambulance that had been called in. The scratchy wool accentuated his worry as the cops checked Nick, took statements, removed wire, and generally congratulated themselves. Eventually, Nick decided to let Greg drive his truck and get them both to the hospital. Sara was mysteriously long gone.

I never thought that I  
Had anymore to give

The truck rumbled along in deafening silence. There were several openings, but Nick was feeling a little fuzzy from the scrapping and Greg wasn't sure there was much to say. Greg's heart pounded each time he tried looking over at Nick with a side long glance. Since they weren't related, Greg was forced to leave the emergency room after waiting with Nick for some time. But he didn't feel much like going into work.

You're taking me so far  
Here I am without you

Catherine called to let him know about prosecuting Harold and that the knife was being used as key evidence. Greg murmured assent during most of the phone call and promised to keep Catherine posted on Nick's condition. Of course, condition made it sound worse than it actually was. Most of it was precaution because of the injuries he had sustained to the head.

Drink to all that we had lost  
Truth that remains

"Greggo. I thought they told you to go home man." Nick stated, hiding the emotion in his voice. The thought of Greg putting himself in danger like that made Nick both furious and extremely proud.

Greg walked softly in from the waiting room, even though it wasn't necessary. "Well, I figured you wouldn't be long getting stitches and you'd need someone to drive you home."

"Face it Sanders. You just wanted to see me in one of those robes with no back." 

Nick smirked and Greg's face went the tiniest hints of red. He was used to Nick's humor, but one never got that used to it.

Everything will change

Greg shrugged. "I just thought maybe you'd like the company."

"I do like the company." Greg winced as he witnessed the trailing scar left on Nick's forearm. Nick, unconcerned, pulled Greg closer to the bed. "It's nice to not have to deal with paperwork alone."

Greg sighed. "Nick, when I saw you in the alley…."

Nick shook his head and faced Greg, halting momentary progress towards emotion. "No. It's my turn to talk first. When I thought you'd risk your skin for mine, I kind of realized that I wasn't just glad to have had an excuse for having you come over to my place. You kind of brightened up my house. Now it's not just a place for all my stuff. It's a place with events, memories." Nick paused in several appropriate places, looking for words that would comfort and hopefully not freak Greg out.

But love remains the same

Greg blushed for the millionth time since this adventure had all begun, stuck on something witty he wanted to say, and all at once forgetting it as Nick reached up with his hand and brushed his cheek. "I've been thinking Greggo. Go ahead and tell me if I'm wrong cause that's okay. But my ranch is kind of big and lonely. Is it too early in our relationship to ask you to move in? I mean, I know you've got your own place and everything…."

Greg's eyes went wide in a way that made Nick smile with that little crinkle that drove Greg insane in the corner of his eyes. "You mean my one bedroom apartment with my two years supply of top ramen versus a ranch house with a rec room?" Greg allowed Nick's hand to wander back to the hospital bed. "There's not much of a contest. Just promise me we'll talk about where my comics can go."

Nick shook his head and smiled. "Right alongside your head dress."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Love Remains the Same" by Gavin Rossdale.


End file.
